Threading the Needle
by Maccer
Summary: One is an Alpha and a leader, the other is an Omega and a leader - and it just gets more difficult from there... I had an earlier version of this but decided it needed substantial editing
1. Chapter 1

THREADING THE NEEDLE

He studies his reflection in the wall mirror, noting the signs of stress there that it was unlikely anyone else would notice. His face is a scarred pattern of flesh stretched taut over sharp angled bones. He is frequently tired, his eyes often shadowed. Even his son would be hard put to see any difference in him. Softness is not something Varian Wrynn is noted for, either in looks or behaviour.

Yet he can see the signs, just as he can feel them. His eyes narrow frequently when there is no glare, usually from a headache striking at each temple like a blacksmith's hammer on an anvil. Pound, pound, pound, it goes on for hours and none of his healers can ease it. Like an overfilled gourd, the pain spills out in various ways; headaches, emotions that too often explode in tempers and lack of patience. He's known for his frequent harsh nature. Over the years he'd found it was safer and simpler to hide behind a reputation of a sharp temperament and a dangerous set of moods. It was a defensive armour he'd learned to wear, unwillingly, out of necessity.

He curses softly, uncorking the small bottle on his dresser. With a look of distaste he swallows it down and wipes his mouth. The timing of the meeting is unfortunate. At such times he prefers to stay at home and resolve his needs in privacy. This time he cannot prevaricate and as much as he dislikes relying on the potion, he has no choice. He knows he will pay for it later, with worsening headaches and actual pain. Just another sacrifice he makes for the good of his people.

Despite the protection the potion normally provides, he's in Dalaran for no more than an hour when he realises he is in serious trouble.

News of the Horde's attendance draws him out of the meeting room to the balcony overlooking the street to assess who had accepted the invitation of the Kirin Tor. The numbers are equal, as required, and it takes only a few moments to see the Horde leaders. Of course, it would be Hellscream. He stands head and shoulders above the rest of his group, a looming presence who studies those around him with distain.

But it is what happens when his head turns upwards and his eyes light on Varian that brings the King suddenly rigidly upright. He has never before been so close to Garrosh Hellscream, and never when he is on the verge of a Heat. Those golden feral eyes focus on him and flare with a suddenly savage interest. Because, of course, they would, in the way of things for a powerful Alpha sensing an Omega in near-Heat.

Varian realises he has backed away without thinking as his back impacts a wall. He also notes in a small, shattered part of his mind that the potion, that normally dampens his Heat, has been annulled. For all the good it has done, he might well have not taken it. The power of that Alpha blows through its effect like a sword through parchment.

He forces himself to turn, noting Jaina's look of surprise. She'd seen his abrupt retreat though she obviously had no idea about its cause. "Headache," he mutters, which is true enough as he clutches his head. "I'll be in my rooms until the meeting starts." He sees her frown but forestalls questions by beating a hasty retreat. He can almost sense the Orc's pleased humour. Distance will lessen the problem but not remove it and he knows he must attend the upcoming meeting. How he can do it and retain any sort of control he has no idea.

As he hurries up the stairs and into his room, he wonders if Jaina could help. She is a powerful mage but she has no idea of Varian's state. He sits on the bed and tries to calm his jangling nerves. He remembers how kind Tiffin had been when he had married her for political necessity and it had only been with Khadgar's assistance that they had been able to make Anduin, his necessary heir. But Khadgar was far away and he has no idea if there was anything that could be done to stop the power of this natural process.

He cannot risk another draught even if he had one to hand; the aftereffects are always debilitating and taking a second will cause convulsions. He knows he must somehow endure until the talks are over and he can find some suitable willing stranger Alpha to relieve his needs. There are places he can go, places he has found over a lifetime of Heats where his identity is disguised and he simply an Omega in Heat needing relief. But none of those places are in Dalaran.

He had never been unable to understand the odd biological choice of making him an Omega. He is a King, after all, the son of a King, the father of a future King, a warrior and a leader. Omegas are normally gentler, softer individuals, most often women who partner with strong Alpha men who protect and cherish them. He is a fighter, he needs no one to protect or cherish him. It always felt as if the Cosmos had played some perverse jest on him to put such a burden on him when he already bore so many. And in all his life he had never met an Alpha stronger than himself, and had never known the absolute satisfaction of being with a sexual partner his equal.

Despite the worry Varian manages to snatch an hour's rest before the meeting is due to start its first session. He washes away the gathered perspiration, dresses in comfortable cloth and leather, still formally decorated in Alliance colours but more suited to discussions. He ventures downstairs and over to the rooms set aside for the talks in the Violet Hold, greeting various friends and fighting companions along the way. To the world he will seem his usual self. Inside, he is a tightly wound nerve waiting for the first touch of that arrogant Alpha presence.

And it makes itself utterly known as soon as he enters the conference room. He does not even have to look to know where Garrosh Hellscream sits; the air seems to vibrate with his powerful aura. And Varian deliberately does not acknowledge him but sits in his place at the head of the Alliance party, rearranges the papers before him and reads the itinerary. Or attempts to read it, but the words run together and seem to be in some foreign tongue he does not know. He does know that Garrosh is watching him, he can feel the Alpha's eyes boring into his skull. He realises finally that he cannot avoid that small confrontation and he raises his eyes and looks across the table at the monstrous Orc.

It is a bad idea, he realises, because now he is, he cannot look away. The predator who is Hellscream has his entire attention fixed on Varian, unblinking and feral. He doesn't twitch a muscle but Varian feels as if he is being held in place by an unseen grasp and he pushes backwards against it, eyes narrowing. And Garrosh smiles then, and runs a large tongue over his prominent tusks. Varian's fists clench as he realises this is going to be a very bad day. The challenge offered could not have been more obvious if Hellscream had shouted it out loud.

And so it proves. He leaves much of the talking to the rest of the party. They know his wishes and are accustomed to him allowing them to speak first, to open the talks so that he can input his own requirements or responses further along. This time, however, he is barely able to talk, as it is all he can do to maintain an outward appearance of normalcy. And when the talks break for lunch he stands hastily, gives Jaina some excuse of the headache needing attention, and hurries from the room.

He realises he is lost at one point, turned around in one of the corridors and he goes to find his way back to the main stairs. As he turns a corner he runs into a large, heavy body and Garrosh's Alpha power washes over him like a sudden rainstorm. Hands latch onto his arms and he looks up into the Orc's intently watching eyes.

He snarls in furious frustration. "Take your hands off me, Orc."

For all the good it does, he may as well not have spoken. Garrosh moves forward, backing him up against the wall, standing so close he is almost touching Varian. But not quite. "Can life be any better?" Garrosh says, dark eyes half-closed as he drinks in the Omega Heat. "Varian Wrynn, High King of the Alliance…an Omega. And in Heat. Wonderful."

Retreat seems the best option, and Varian stomps on Garrosh's foot as he pulls himself aside. All that earns him is a harder grip and being twisted around towards a nearby door. Garrosh kicks the door open to reveal a large storeroom, unoccupied. He drags Varian inside and slams the door closed with one foot. At that moment Varian misses his sword. Or any weapon – a club, a mace, a dagger, anything, but all he has is rage and his natural strength. He punches Garrosh in the guts, drawing a grunt from the orc, and kicks out at his knee. But his soft suede boots do little to stop the Orc Warchief from pressing forward. Varian's hands are grabbed at the wrists and reefed backwards behind him and then he is drawn against Garrosh, bouncing onto the big chest, as hard at it looks.

The feel of a significant arousal pushing against his thigh pings on his brain, causing tiny frissons of energy to flow across his skin. The hairs raise in their path and he hisses, bearing his teeth. "I know what you are, and I know what I am, and it makes no difference. Take your fucking hands off me before I break them!"

But it knows its bravado, words as the moments pass and the Heat need gnaws at his mind and body like a beast. Having Garrosh this close is torture; the Heat doesn't care that Garrosh is an Orc and he a human. It knows need and survival, and Garrosh fulfils both demands. He is still trying to form a challenge or threat or any kind of coherent insult when he feels the clothing being pulled from his body by large, surprisingly dextrous hands. The removal of his pants releases a strong, musky scent from his arse and he notes in a corner of his brain that he is already presenting, despite all logic. And Garrosh notes it too and wipes one hand across his buttocks and lifts it to smell the trace of slick lubricant on his fingers.

He makes a satisfied humming sound and slides both hands under Varian's buttocks, lifting him up and Varian's legs slide around Garrosh's hips as if they had minds of their own. Instead of trying to gouge out those wide, focused eyes his hands grip the Orc's shoulders, digging his fingers into the big muscles. He is lost, he realises, as his body recognises the mastering power of the Alpha to be exactly what he needs, match for match. Just as he is the strongest Omega, Garrosh is the strongest Alpha. Intellect and reason doesn't stand a chance.

And then he is lowered onto that huge, jutting cock, the biggest he has ever had or known. Its size is so great he wonders dimly if even he can take it, but his body adjusts if not easily, then adequately. The pressure builds, his fingers tighten, but there is no pain, only hunger assuaged and wonderful satisfaction as the cock presses up into him, stretching his body to its full capacity. He hears Garrosh groan and Varian drops his head to the chest, his body shuddering, fighting still in the only way he can. Fighting to survive. There is no logic in this mating but there is survival and he holds onto that as he grabs the big arms in a hard grasp, as he is lifted and pushed, up and down, riding it as it plunges further and further, until he has all of it in him, until he surrounds Garrosh with his hot, pulsing flesh.

He bites down on a raised nipple, earning another groan and the humping increases in pace and when the cock touches his inner wall he arches back and yells as he climaxes and shoots his come across Garrosh's stomach. Garrosh shudders and growls like a beast and thrusts in one last hard and deep possession as Varian senses the flow of his seed, its heat matching his own heat, giving his body what it needs to enclose the circle of Heat and hunger.

He blanks out for a few moments and revives to find himself still held, but sitting on Garrosh's thighs where the Orc is sprawled on the floor, his back to the wall. He thinks that he has never had such a coupling before, never one with such perfect satisfaction. From the mild shaking of the big hand that strokes his back, he thinks perhaps Garrosh is of the same mind. He can almost read the big body. And then he realises he can, that the sense of Other is far deeper than it should be, could be. Varian groans and pushes himself up.

"No."

But Garrosh continues to hold him, dark eyes watchful. "Mine. You are…" His deep voice is strangely unsteady. "None but I will take you. Not ever." And Varian knows he mean 'can't' because somehow they'd formed some sort of improbable, impossible bonding. He grabs his clothing and dresses, aware of Garrosh on a level beyond thought. He doesn't answer, doesn't speak at all, just looks at the waiting Orc and then, very much against his will, reaches down to touch the big shoulder. Then he turns and leaves.

And when he is back in Stormwind, looking at his reflected image once more, he notices that the tensions are gone, that the pressure that had always lain at the back of his mind had vanished. He is both more and less than he was and somehow he must navigate an impossible path between duty and survival. And when the Heat comes on him again he knows that it will drive him to find the Alpha who is finally his match in every way but the one way he can permit.


	2. Chapter 2

Sitting on a tree stump with his wolf resting in the grass beside him, Garrosh Hellscream runs a honing stone across the already sharp blade of Gorehowl as he watches the battle unfold.

Such conflicts as the one he is watching often occur at various places across Kalimdor, especially in areas where the Alliance has established bases of any kind. It seems any Horde presence incites them to leave the protection of their walls and charge out, offering challenge. He understands that desire, it happens for his own people as well. The younger, more excitable members of both sides are prone to view the mere presence of the other as reason enough to fight. It's difficult to control that response. Most times he wouldn't even try.

The Warchief would not normally attend such minor interactions but he'd been out hunting with his Kor'kron guard squad and heard the sound of battle, and had no more been able to resist investigating it than he could stop being an Orc. Some of his guards requested the chance to join in and he'd sent one or two of them into the fight, simply because he could.

He puts the honing stone away and is about to call his people back when he senses a presence. His heart thuds abruptly, a combination of excitement and dread. He stands, leaning forward, eyes narrowed as he searches the scene of battle. And after a few moments he sees him.

 _Varian Wrynn._

It is almost three months since the meeting at Dalaran, and what had happened there. To find that the High King of the Alliance, of all people, was an Omega, was incredible enough. But to be there to trigger his Heat, to take and possess him, that had been a conquest on an intimately satisfying level. But the result was unexpected. The hatred he'd felt for that particular human had changed into something else. It became a hunger that could only be satisfied by one thing.

More of him.

For the leader of the Alliance to take part in such a petty fight would be stupid at best, but the timing is everything. Three months, a normal Omega cycle. Whether deliberately or not, Wrynn had come searching for him. A smile turns one side of Garrosh's mouth upwards as he shoves Gorehowl into the sheath on his back. _Well, if he wants me, I shouldn't disappoint him…_

He calls his remaining guards together, issuing instructions, and slides onto his wolf's back. The Kor'kron gather their weapons and form a wedge around him and they ride forward across the field, slicing through the Alliance forces. He knows when the King sees him, feels the rush of fury, even as the Heat stirs awake like a beast, a hunger that triggers a mirroring flush in his blood and makes his skin tingle.

"Remember," he shouts, nostrils flaring, "no one touches the human King. I'll gut anyone who does."

A path is cleared for him until he reaches the point where Varian stands, his great sword bloodied from hilt to tip. A royal Stormwind standard flutters behind him and though he is very tired still that proud head lifts in response to Garrosh's approach, and the blue eyes glare at him as his hand tightens on the sword's grip. The Alliance forces around him are fighting fiercely, trying to protect their King but they're outnumbered, exhausted and fall one by one beneath the determined Kor'kron advance.

As he stands, dragging Gorehowl slowly over his shoulder, he senses Varian's Heat. It sometimes surprises him how others cannot recognise an Omega's Heat bloom, it always feels so powerful to him. Sensual, magnetic, it is drawing him closer despite himself and he drops Gorehowl to the ground, hearing it thud as he steps forward. He has no intention of killing the King and the swinging swipe of the big blade that Varian makes misses him by feet. He ducks under the sword and smashes into the human, knocking him backwards, landing on top of him. Varian is stunned by the impact and Garrosh takes the opportunity to slap the side of his head, knocking him unconscious.

The rest of his people are dead by the time his limp body is seated in front of Garrosh on his wolf. He rides off towards the Crossroads, leaving the tattered and bloodied standard to mark the place for the buzzards and the hyenas already gathering.

By the time Garrosh arrives at his rooms in Grommash Hold Varian is beginning to recover consciousness though it's a confused and barely intelligent awareness. The exhaustion, the damage from a variety of wounds and the physical stress of a denied Heat release have taken their toll and even Varian Wrynn's considerable strength is starting to wear thin. Garrosh hands him over to the healers who tend his wounds and clean him up. He sends them away finally, leaving a naked, bruised and barely conscious human lying sprawled on the Warchief's bed.

Garrosh watches him as him strips off his own armour, leaving only his short leather pants. To Orc eyes, Varian Wrynn isn't physically attractive. 'Small teeth' the Orcs called the first humans they met on their arrival on Azeroth. Small in every way; shorter, less heavily muscled, with no natural weaponry compared to the teeth, tusks and bulk of an Orc. Yet they're resilient creatures, refusing to admit defeat, returning again and again to challenge the Horde. They'd earned the Horde's grudging respect, and Varian more than any other. The strongest human, certainly the most stubborn, he'd fought the Horde – and Orcs in particular – all his adult life. That made him attractive in a way beyond the mere physical.

As Garrosh sits on the edge of the bed, Varian's eyes open and his head turns to watch the Warchief. His eyes gradually focus on the big Orc and his body begins to shake as the Heat flares. Varian rolls onto his side and he stands, unsteady but obviously determined.

 _Stubborn indeed._ Garrosh snorts in frustration. "Where do you think you're going?"

"Am I..a prisoner?" His voice is hoarse and he coughs, wobbling a little on his feet.

Garrosh laughs, simply amused. "My prisoner? No. " He waves one hand towards the door. "Feel free to leave, if you can."

Varian grabs a cloak from a nearby chair, wraps it around himself and staggers towards the door. Each second his movement becomes more unstable. He pushes himself upright against the doorframe. "You killed…them all…didn't you. All my people…"

"Not me personally. My orcs did. A number of Horde warriors died as well." But Varian obviously isn't open to logic at that moment; he shakes his head and continues on, out through the door, heading for the stairs. Garrosh follows him, he isn't sure the human can navigate the steps but somehow he manages, tripping and sliding his way down and out of the Hold. By the time he reaches the open courtyard before the Hold he is barely able to take a step, and locals stop to watch him, astonished at his sudden appearance, there in the middle of Orgrimmar. But Garrosh's guards stand ready as the Warchief snarls orders to them. They stand back as Varian reaches the mouth of the tunnel leading through the front wall. He takes a step, stumbles and falls – but Garrosh is there to catch him before he hits the ground.

"Enough! You've done enough." The human's Heat need pulses from him, filled with the pain of denial. "Gods, you're insane. Is death better than my touch?"

"Stupid…question, monster." Hands pummel him, the flushed face twisted into a grimace of anger and pain. Garrosh ignores it as he walks back towards the Hold, easily carrying the weakly struggling human back up to his room. He dumps Varian onto the bed, pushes off his own pants and slides down next to the twitching figure.

He makes a low guttural snarl of satisfaction and he runs his mouth down Varian's body, tusks leaving thin slices of blood that mingle with Varian's sweat. Each mark he leaves crosses other older scars on the man's body but it as if he is owning each small piece of skin as he moves down and across, his tongue spreading the thin layer of blood, tasting the heat and hunger, both his own and Varian's. His hands move at the same time, slowly stroking, feeling muscles tense and flex under his touch. He could move faster, take Varian right there and then but the desire to utterly dominate is overwhelming. He wants not just to possess but for his ownership to be acknowledged. He bends closer, covering Varian's body with his own, moving up to his throat and nudging the proud head back, setting his tusks and teeth at the vulnerable soft skin above the big blood vessel there.

"Give in to me," he whispers, tongue lapping, feeling the rapid beat of the man's blood. "Tell me what you need." He slowly strokes his face across Varian's throat, licking and tasting the salty sweat. "Tell me…"

Hands grasp his face, one settling on each tusk, pulling back – but not to pull away but to hold onto and he looks into eyes intently watching him, despite Varian being deep into Heat. "You. I need you, gods help me."

Garrosh grins, eyes narrowed. "No need of gods when I'm here." And he chuckles at the affronted look on the man's face as he bends to run his tongue down across Varian's arousal, nudges lower to the hot, damp opening and flips Varian onto his stomach as he licks his arse. Beyond thought at last, Varian rises to hands and knees, head dropping as Garrosh moves above and behind, as he touches and strokes and then possesses, entering him with one deep, avid growl.

He wraps his arms under Varian's body, covering him as he mounts him in regular, grunting thrusts. Varian moans and shivers, the heat of his body spilling into Garrosh, linking them in the cycle of need and lust. Their mutual release is a kind of annihilation; it destroys what they are – orc and human, enemy to the other – and makes them one thing that is something new.


End file.
